


Protein

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 00:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4119648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Dwalin work out a training high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protein

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Young Thorin and Dwalin helping each other take the edge off after training together” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21721835#t21721835).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They finish late, when the sun’s fallen from the sky and the pits are empty—the sounds of clashing steel have finally died over the hill. By the time they stumble into the bathing chambers just off the fighting pits, they’re all alone. The candles are still lit, set to burn through the night for those stray dwarves that train through the night. Thorin and Dwalin have had enough, and they trudge towards the carved out cubicles, panting and sweating. 

They fight hard. Their friendship is fierce, but that connection only ever gives Thorin fire, and when he sets foot on that dirt field, all he can think about is _beating Dwalin down._ He turns into a ferocious beast that wants to claim and dominate, wants to impress any onlookers and that friend himself, but it’s never so easy. Dwalin’s just as wild. Dwalin is the only dwarf who never goes easy on his prince, perhaps because he knows that that’s how he keeps Thorin’s respect. Their fights are _real_ , like everything about them. 

And then their swords have been put away, their armour’s been peeled off, and it’s just the two of them stripping out of tunics in the dark hall. Both of them are too spent to talk. Thorin’s sore in too many places, bruised along his ribs and tasting crusted blood at the corner of his mouth. Victory badges. Out the corner of his eye, he watches Dwalin pull the haggard fabric over his head, revealing nothing but broad, tight muscles, firm and strong and chiseled like Durin himself. Dwalin’s built how every Dwarven warrior wishes. He ducks his head to unfasten the ties of his trousers, and the movement draws Thorin’s gaze to his too-defined six-pack, hard as a rock. 

Thorin doesn’t realize he’s staring until Dwalin grunts, “What’re you looking at?” He stays bent over, hands on his hem, the strip of hair down the middle of his bare head wilting forward and matted with dirt. His thick beard covers the top of his chest, but his dusty nipples still peak out below it, glistening from the heat of the sun and their fight. 

Not for the first time, Thorin considers flexing his power. Dwalin always responds well to it, even though they mostly act as equals. Dwalin’s loyal as a raven, and if Thorin ordered him to never wear a shirt again, he’d probably obey. He’d probably let Thorin ogle him, strip him down, step up and _feel_ him, pet his giant tits and lick his darkened skin. But Thorin isn’t that kind of prince. 

He mutters, “It was good match today,” and turns back to his own cubbies, kicking his boots into the lower one. 

“Yeah,” Dwalin agrees. “You almost bested me.”

Thorin folds his tunic in his hands and snorts, “I _did_ best you.”

“Agree to disagree, my prince.” From anyone else, the title would sound mocking. It never does with Dwalin. It sparks something in Thorin nonetheless. Their fire’s never fully gone. He turns to look at his best friend.

And he shoves Dwalin hard in the shoulder, so hard that Dwalin almost stumbles back a step in surprise. It was a deliberate instigation. Thorin tilts his chin regally up and growls, “We only stopped because you were tired. I was winning.” Dwalin _stares_ at him. 

Dwalin’s eyes flicker down to his lips, and Thorin’s breath catches. 

Then Dwalin lifts both hands and turns Thorin to shove him against the perforated wall, the shelves of the cubbies digging into his back. Thorin reaches to get a stranglehold, and instead winds up with his arms locked around Dwalin’s shoulders, and the next thing he knows, he’s jerking Dwalin forward. 

Their mouths crash together. Their noses collide, and for a split-second, Thorin experiences a searing pain and thinks he’s broken it, but the hurt is gone a moment later and they’re just _kissing_ , Dwalin’s head tilted to the side and his chapped lips flush against Thorin’s. Thorin doesn’t know which of them opens first, but suddenly their tongues are in the middle, writhing messily against one another, all spit and clashing teeth. One of Dwalin’s bare knees nudges between Thorin’s thighs. Thorin realizes abruptly that Dwalin’s _naked_ and _making out_ with him, and that thought alone makes him dizzy, giving Dwalin a chance to overpower the kiss and thrust into Thorin’s mouth. 

Thorin isn’t one to give up a challenge. He shoots his hand down Dwalin’s exposed body, grabbing right for Dwalin’s cock. He bypasses the matted curls at the base and locks his fingers around the thick shaft, pleased at the sheer girth of it—he knew it’d be big, just like all of Dwalin. Dwalin makes a choked noise, gasping and thrusting forward, and Thorin smirks into the kiss, squeezing his prize. 

With just drying sweat, Thorin sets to pumping Dwalin’s cock, which goes from half-limp to stiff as a stone in a matter of seconds. Each stroke of Thorin’s hand seems to make it hotter, harder, more engorged around his eager fingers. He kisses Dwalin the whole way through. His trousers are still on, but Dwalin grabs his hips through them, digging into his flesh and curving back to cup his ass. They don’t bother stopping for words. It’s the first time they’ve done this, but it doesn’t feel like it. In a way, Dwalin has always been _his_ , and this development was only a matter of time. 

It isn’t that different than fighting. They’re locked in a tight embrace, Thorin pinned and writhing but on the attack instead of defense. His hands are just as skilled on Dwalin’s cock as they are on the hilt of a sword. Instinct mostly guides him, burning to _have Dwalin_. His other hand curls into Dwalin’s beard, making sure that Dwalin can’t leave his mouth before he’s ready. Dwalin doesn’t seem like he has any intention of going anywhere. He kneads Thorin’s ass like he’s thought of nothing else for years. Thorin’s hard inside his trousers. He squirms against Dwalin’s thigh, while Dwalin humps his hand and grinds into his tented crotch like a tantalizing promise. Thorin almost wishes they’d waited until they were in the bath, both naked, or back in Thorin’s chambers, so he could ride this beast of a man in his own bed, or maybe fuck his best friend into the royal mattress. 

Dwalin surrenders faster than he would in a battle. It makes Thorin growl triumphantly, milking Dwalin all the harder when he feels the burst of release. Dwalin’s cock splatters Thorin’s stomach and trousers in a hot, sticky mess. Dwalin shudders but doesn’t stop kissing him. Thorin’s lips feel swollen and he’s leaked saliva out the corner of his lips, though he’s not sure whose. He feels like a delicious wreck, but he lasted longer, and that means he _won_.

The real victory is catching Dwalin. When they finally stop kissing for long enough to look at one another, Thorin’s flushed and panting. Dwalin looks _ravenous_ , like he could eat Thorin _whole._

The next thing Thorin knows, Dwalin’s shoved down his trousers, and he’s being carried to the nearest tub.


End file.
